The sand and the wind in Skagen made me quiet.

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I could realise how small (like a peddle) and transient (like a flower) I am. . My inner voice was getting louder and louder in the noise of the wind. . ‘I’ was trying to survive.

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But somehow I knew that I’ll end up becoming the smallest elements like the ashes or the sand in the end. . Now, empty. The water of my mind is absorbed in the sand.

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I brought a bottle of sand back to Bergen to remember the voice.

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